


Flame

by straylights



Category: Grey Eyes - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylights/pseuds/straylights





	1. The Beginning

He woke up in a strange, yet familiar place. He was lying on a white floor, Aira besides him. Everything was white, but for a huge silver Gate erected in front of him. The Alchemist’s holy place, the closest thing to their version of Heaven and Hell. A figure of white grinned maniacally back at him.

“Gabriel Herrington,” the figure smiled. “I have wanted to see you.”

Phoenix held the girl tightly in his arms and walked forward, blood dripping from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. His head ached, but the wounds were numb. At any other place he would have been dead, but the Gate wanted him alive.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Please, Alchemist. I’m all ears.”

“I want my daughter to live. And I want her to be safe.” Phoenix gazed at him, his eyes burning with determination. “I’ll surrender my Gate.”

“Let me do the Maths. The Gate of a dying man who won’t live the hour,” Truth said boredly. “Sorry, Alchemist. your market price kind of plummeted a couple of minutes ago. No hard feelings. Demand and supply kind of shit. We can get you a nice vase for your price, though.”

“Truth!” he hollered. Aira started crying, putting her small hands at her father’s neck. “Please, I beg of you! You can have everything! Take everything from me! My Gate, my soul. Please, I’m begging you,” he fell on his knees and bowed. “Please, just help me save Aira.”

“There is something I can do,” Truth grinned. “If we can hike up the price just a little bit. “Safe is very subjective. I can’t play Guardian Angel, Gabriel Herrington. But,” he added before Phoenix could object. “I can grant her power beyond anyone’s imagination though. I can grant her what you have been trying to perfect.”

 “No…no…” he looked at the Keeper in horror. “They will hunt her down! I don’t want her to be the military’s tool,” he said, eyes wide. “I don’t want her to be Alchemist.”

“Tough luck. That’s the deal. Or I can send her back and you both can die together. The last family activity you can do.”

“I…” Phoenix stared at his little girl. He loved her, he already failed his wife. He can’t…he just can’t…

Phoenix tightened his grip.

“A tough customer,” he sighed dramatically. “What about this? I’ll make her a Child of the Gate. If…you are willing to trade her memory of the past years.”

“She won’t remember me. Or Ilyana.”

“She’ll figure it out later,” he said dismissively. “She’s the Child of the Gate, I need an Alchemist, not an amnesiac imbecile. I’ll return her memory after I’ve had my fun. It’s cold here,” he sighed. “A memory of the warmth of love would heat me up nicely.”

Phoenix looked down and sat. He took off his gloves and his military jacket, and put it on his daughter.

“Very well.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

The Amestrian soldier found the bodies of the Drachman militaries. The sniper with the long blonde hair leaned against the tree, her face somehow serene despite the major wound to her head. The other, the Alchemist lie down beside her, with a blue blanket in his hand. One of the men nudged at it with his rifle. It was empty.

The Colonel, a cautious man of 47, did the body check. He found the military identification.

Gabriel Herrington and Ilyana Zarennie

“This is the last of them,” he sighed. “Everyone is accounted for.”

“Except…the child, sir, we can’t find a body,” one said hesitatingly. “Do we continue to search for her?”

Colonel Winnery took the blanket and tossed it aside.

“She would die in the forest,” he said harshly. “Scan around once. If you find her, bring her back to our camp. If you can’t find her, leave her for the wolves. They will take care of it. And then call somebody to bring back the bodies.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Truth hummed as he walked down the road, the sleeping child in hand. He borrowed the face of a young man with blond hair and green eyes. Aira blinked at him hazily, and Truth frowned at her. He had transmuted a black shirt similar to Phoenix’s for her to wear, and it looked funny on her. She was holding Phoenix’s gloves faithfully in her hands, much to his amusement. As if she needed it.

“You look exactly like your sire. That won’t do at all. Now, now, let’s make you a bit harder to find,” he stroked the child’s hair. Her original raven-black hair glowed, and it shifted into a light silvery-gray, a similar shade to his own Gate. Truth smiled. “Now you look like a child of the Gate,” he said, pleased.

He wondered what he should do with the child. The little brat had been crying all day long and he wanted to dump her as soon as possible and be gone. He walked until he came upon a bleak old building. Several children stared at him from a broken window, and he raised one eyebrow.

Amestris’ House of Orphans.

Grinning, he transmuted the gate open and nudged the little brat inside before walking off without a second glance.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

“Jerre Simmon!” somebody hollered. Simmon groaned as he walked up. Fuck the orphanage. Fuck the kids. He hated this dreary job. “Father Simmon!”

“What the hell?” he yelled back. “If it’s one of the little brats again, just fucking throw them into the room until they shut the fuck up!”

“You would wanna see this,” Nana said. Simmon followed her to a room where he was greeted by the sight of a little girl crying and sobbing inconsolably. She wore a pair of worn-out gloves that has seen better days. A weird symbol was etched on it, and Simmon peered closely to see it.

“Who is this?” he asked coldly.

“We found her on the doorstep,” Nana sighed.

“People should fucking stop leaving their spawns here,” he gritted his teeth. The girl cried harder and he grabbed her on the wrist.

“What’s your name, girl?” he asked.

“I…I don’t…”

“Who are your parents?” he demanded. “What’s your family name?”

She looked at him, eyes wide and cried again. “Always wear the gloves, always wear the gloves,” she chanted. “Always wear the gloves…”

“What the hell is the brat talking about?”

“This,” Nana gestured to her gloves and pointed towards the wall.

A huge blackened wall stared back at Simmon.

“What…”

“She burned it,” Nana said calmly. “I was caught by surprise.”

“An Alchemist,” he said, his mind calculating. “A combat Alchemist, by the look of it.”

“The Adam boy, died last week, didn’t he?” he asked.

“Evans, but yes,” Nana frowned. Surely…?

He grinned and let the girl go. “Take her to the hall and give her his bed,” he grinned. Nana looked at him in surprised.

“A Stranger’s Child?”

Ah. He can’t bring her in without documents. But that’s easy. Some signatures and a little bit of coins will make anyone an Amestrians. She needs a name.

“Elrizless. Kalya Elrizless,” he towered over her. That will be his one and only gift. A name to identify herself with. Kalya. It means Lord. She demeans the name, but nobody gives a fuck.

“Believe me, when the time is right, we’ll be harvesting golds off this brat,” he turned and left. It’s time to wait for a good sale.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

-7 years later-

“Very pretty,” Nana looked at her, pleased. Kalya looked questioningly at her outfit. The orphanage is poor, and she rarely gets new stuffs. However, today, she was dressed in a beautiful purple shirt with black skirt. The woman tied her hair back in a bun and examined her.

“Ah, you’ll be making us rich,” she grinned maniacally, and Kalya didn’t like it one bit.

The next day she was sent away to Central with the town’s doctor, Allan Grant and the supervisor of the orphanage, a disgusting man she remembered calling ‘Jerre’.

A month after, she became the youngest person to ever succeeded the Alchemy Exam.

The day after she received her second name, they put her in the blue Amestrian military uniform, shove her a rifle and put her in war.


	2. The World Through Her Eyes

-2nd Year of The Eastern Campaign-

Falcon didn't know when he would ever see the welcoming door of his home ever again. Where he was now, the blinding rays of the sun constantly shone in his face, and the heat of the sand seemed to melt through his shoes and into his feet, burning them in their own personal black oven. The large, bulky, heavily layered, military blue uniform they were supposed to wear didn't help at all, and the white cover over it didn't resist much heat, it would turn yellow after a few days because of the sweat that would constantly layer it until Falcon had the chance to wash it again, which was once every few days. No one wanted to waste any water out here at all, so washing your clothes was a once or twice a week opportunity.

Food came in two week rations, and they often messed up the proportions, so some times they would have an extra amount of coffee, sometimes short on it, sometimes they had too much meat, to which no one complained to, and sometimes they had none at all, to which people would groan at. There weren't really any restrooms, you either had to dig a hole or get a bucket, though most people preferred to dig a hole, since if you chose the bucket, and you had to dig a hole anyways, to dump it out. Rookies were the only ones who really used the buckets, and they quickly learned. The only things the buckets were useful for was collecting water or holding vomit.

To put it simply, Falcon was tired of this place. Everyone was. This was desert land, no one really wanted to be out here, except those who chose to live out here and were adapted to it. The soldiers here, though, were not adapted to it, and certainly didn't want to stay out here. There were a few people, though, that were glad to be out here fighting, and actually didn't want to go back, "war-a-holics" Neal tended to call them. Falcon didn't give them a name, the only thing he knew was that he didn't want to be out here anymore, fighting this stupid war. Over what?

The missing Drachman child?

The Pasha of Drachma was livid after the Camp 14 Annihilation. Years of negotiations and peace offerings and offers of opening borders finally appeased them. But the Pasha would not stop making their lives miserable, authorising attacks on farms and sanctioning Amestris by blocking their trade route. Not until he have his granddaughter back, dead or alive.

Aira Herrington is an enigma. Her parents are both deceased, both casualties of the horrifying annihilation. Colonel Winnery was executed but he swore to the end of his breath that the child was missing from the start. The parents, Herrington’s son and daughter-in-law were found later, the bodies carted off to Drachma.

Honestly, Falcon was disgusted at whoever started this war. And in war, people suffered, people starved, people were hurt, and people died. Falcon didn't want to see anyone die, yet there he was, the one who had probably caused a fourth of the Ishvalan casualties with his wretched skills, Niklas had probably caused another fourth of the casualties, though he seemed to enjoy it, leaving only one other person with as much guilt and shame as Falcon had, but twice as much, since this person had probably caused a half of the Ishvalan casualties here, probably more than Falcon and Niklas combined.

The Flame Alchemist.

Rumour had it that the Alchemist was only a kid, a girl nonetheless, that she was stubborn, and had a ferocious temper, that if you crossed the line under her command, you would be sent with her to the front lines, and most likely die in her wake of destruction. She worked alone, and worse of all, she’s mechanical. She doesn’t care. That was where the rumour of her destroying her own comrades to kill the enemy came in. There was even a rumour that the Alchemist would be sent away from the front lines for a couple of weeks, though Falcon could only half-way believe these rumours, after all, when you were in the military for many years, you learned to not trust anything said to you until you saw it with your own eyes.

But these rumours were so far-spread and everyone seemed to believe them, which Falcon sometimes couldn't help but believe them himself. He happened to be thinking about these rumours, sitting on an empty crate, when Neal happened to walk up to him, his dead eyes dull with almost black bags under them, much like Falcon's own, and his usual smile plastered on his face. Although now Falcon knew that the smile was just something Neal forced himself to wear for his own emotional health.

 "Hey, Falcon!" Neal said with the fake smile, stopping right in front of him and putting his hands on his hips. "A few of the men got some playing cards today and they wanted to know if you or I wanted to play a game or two. I said yes, of course, so you have to come now. There's no fun out here in this wasteland." He chirped, looking out onto the bright horizon with the setting sun.

Falcon decided that he hated that fake smile.

"Alright then, why not." He said, standing up and already hearing the slight creak in his joints, the cracking of his spine, the small voice in the back of his head pleading to sit down once again, though Falcon knew that if he sat down for too long then he wouldn't get back up again. "Let's go." He said, walking along side-by-side with Neal towards what everyone called the "Break Tent", where people would smoke, play cards, if there were any, hold small little meetings, and what not. It was an okay place, the troops liked it, and Falcon sometimes went in there and join in the commotion. Hopefully there wouldn't be any smokers in there during the card game, he hated how the smoke didn't exit into the air like it would outside, but stayed in the tent for hours, circling everywhere and eventually, over time, finding its way out, but leaving a stench that seemed to stay there for days, and sometimes marks that would stain the roof because of the smoke constantly rubbing up against it. That was a downside of the Break Tent, but Falcon figured some entertainment may do him some good, keep his spirits up. For now.

While they neared the Break Tent, they passed a large stack of crates, and Neal, who had been walking closer to them, paused his walking and tilted his head. Falcon stopped and turned around, wondering what the man was doing. Had he lost his mind and started listening to the crates?

"Hey, Falcon," Neal whispered, motioning his hand for Falcon to come closer. Falcon was now almost fully convinced that Neal had lost his marbles, but he came closer anyways, the sound of his feet muffled by the sand he stepped on. "Listen," Neal said as he leaned closer towards the still-a-good-seven-feet-away crates and almost fully convinced Falcon that Neal had lost his mind, when he started to hear soft, whisper-like sounds coming from behind the other side of the crate. Falcon squinted his eyebrows, now almost convinced that he had lost his marbles, when Neal spoke again, saying, "You hear that too, right? I haven't lost my marbles?" It seemed that they were both thinking the same way, as best friends usually do, so Falcon nodded as they both squatted down, crept up to the crates, right until they were about seven inches away from the crates, and the whispers turned into mumbling, which turned into mumbled words that they could soon make out.

"Hydrogen... Helium... Lithium, Beryllium... Boron... Carbon... Oxygen... Nitrogen, Neon, Sodium... Magnesium, Phosphorus..."

Falcon and Neal looked at each other with confused eyes as Neal mouthed to him, "Are they reciting the Periodic Table?" As Falcon slowly nodded and mouthed back, "Yeah, actually, I think so..." and then they both looked at each other, nodded, and they both looked over the top of the crates to see a face-full of long, silvery-gray hair that was let loose in a way that probably wasn't allowed, and a slight bang in the front covering half the face of the girl, though some of the head was wrapped up in bandages, that were stained red almost all the way around. The Military issued white blanket covered their view of the person's military uniform, except for the pants, which seemed to be slightly too big for the person wearing them.

The thing that caught Falcon's attention was that the person was wearing gloves over their hands, and they both seemed to have dried blood on them. Who in their right mind would be wearing gloves out here? Even Falcon took his gloves off and stuck them securely in his back pocket when he was out here in the sweltering heat, and only put them on for battle. Even though Falcon was still trying to think about who this could be, Neal quickly pulled him down and snuck him back a few feet so that he could whisper to Falcon.

 "Isn't that’s the Flame Alchemist?" Neal asked, slightly surprised. Falcon looked back at the crates after Neal's question, he could still hear the faint mumbling, and then back to Neal.

"The Flame Alchemist? Isn't she supposed to be stationed at the front lines?" He asked Neal. Then again, there was that rumour that he would be hanging back for a few weeks... if that was true, then was he going to be here, under the troops Falcon and Neal were in?

"I believe so, but she was scheduled to take about two weeks off from the front lines, something about some hysteria on the battle field..." Neal responded. His job as an informant was dangerous, yes, but it did come in handy some times. Falcon was about to ask about the "Hysteria" that Neal mentioned when they both paused as they heard the mumbling stop, and they both held their breath as the silence held on, but soon enough a loud sigh was heard and the mumbling continued, as Neal and Falcon let out their breaths.

 "Hey," Neal smiled, giving Falcon and uncomfortable feeling. "We should invite her to play cards with us."

"What?" Falcon whispered ferociously as Neal stood up to his full height and started to walk over there with his confident stride, one Falcon rarely saw nowadays, and Falcon stood up to his full height as well, quickly walking after him, attempting to whisper quietly to him to stop, but he found it too late as they found themselves facing the Alchemist.

She was young, very young, probably no more than thirteen or fifteen, and she looked horrible. Bloody bandages were wrapped multiple times around her forehead, though it didn't stop what seemed to be a very heavy flow of blood. Her hair was cut short, like a boy’s. The bangs around her face were dirty, among closer inspection so was the rest of her hair, and caked with dried up blood. Scratches were tossed everywhere among her pale skin, and Falcon could tell that her frame had once fit the clothes she was wearing, but the girl had thinned so much that it had shrunk almost a full size. Her clothes were filthy, the stars decorating her uniform becomes the only thing that allows him to ascertain her rank as a Major. Her white blanket stained red in multiple areas, and she fidgeted with her gloves that seemed to be covering multiple cuts and bruises.

The worst things were her eyes.

You could tell that all innocence had been taken from this girl’s head and swept aside like an unneeded rag. Her eyes are the curious colour of the ocean, a combination of the rarest green-blue shade. It was peculiar. Most people in Amestris had brown eyes, or black like his own. But her eyes, they weren't dull, they weren't lacking, they weren't starved, they were dead, with dark, almost black bags around her eyes, and Falcon had seen this multiple times, just not on a child, and it horrified him that someone so young was taken away from their youth and brought to this wretched war. She is ugly, Falcon realized. She is messy and troubled. He’s not shallow but even he could see that.

Falcon could tell that Neal was disgusted as well, but Neal none the less kept the fake smile on his face and waved his hand as he greeted, "Hey, you're the Flame Alchemist, right?" The Alchemist nodded, barely, and Falcon could practically see Neal grimacing in his head. "I'm Private Neal Caffrey, Soulbinder Alchemist, Division 45." He said and looked to Falcon who then responded to the girl, "And I'm Major Falcon Darkride of Division 26." The girl nodded again, yet didn't say her name, and that just proved that she didn't yet trust them, because names could be important in the military. Once someone high up knew of your name, they were never going to forget it, and if you were in trouble, they could kill you off in an instant.

Neal rubbed his neck awkwardly, it was obvious that he was trying to be friendly. "Anyways, Falcon and I here were going to go to the Break Tent and play some cards with some buddies of ours, we were wondering if you would wanna tag along!" He said enthusiastically, and Falcon thought he could detect something of a real smile in his fake one.

The Alchemist sat there for a second and then nodded her head, mumbling, "Sure," as she slid off the boxes and stood, wobbly, on her feet. Her silver hair looked like it was badly cut with a knife, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case.

Neal patted the Alchemist's shoulder as she began to walk away from them, towards the Break Tent, the Alchemist and Falcon following, now lined up side by side, with Neal and Falcon on the outside and the Alchemist in the middle.

"Say," Neal started as the Alchemist turned his head towards him. "What's your name?"

 The girl seemed to pause for a moment before answering Neal's, and internally Falcon's, question.

 "Kalya. Kalya Elrizless of Division 1."

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Falcon didn’t know what kind of punishment is the Alchemist under, but he kept silent about it. Most Alchemist was allocated in other branches. Medicine. Research. Ammunition. Scouting. Alchemists are usually by nature, docile, consumed by their thirst for knowledge. Be thou for the people was their principal, and the only exception to the rule that he knew was Niklas, the Crimson Alchemist and now the Flame.

The modus operandi were also something to be pondered upon. Rarely does the higher ups put such a valuable asset in the frontlines, especially one as volatile as Kalya. She had no friends, but for Neal, maybe Falcon, and the old doctor from the Medical Tent, an Allan Grant, whom she ironically despised, snarling at him whenever he tried to talk or be near her. She refused companion that goes further than a friendly greeting. People were fearful of her. The female personnel were just as battle-weary as their male counterparts, and they were not in the position to nurture, and they left the young Alchemist alone.

Only Neal bothered with her, and by extension, Falcon. He dragged her around, forced her to eat and goes as far as to stay with her on lonely nights. He talked to her about his sweetheart, Arlene, and taught her cards and how to shoot a gun, and she begrudgingly told him her theories of science, the only thing that Neal is able to incite a reaction on. She refused to talk about her family or her background, and the only think they knew about her is that she was here because of her ‘caretaker’ and she’d never quite forgiven them on it. The only thing he knew was that she was a Catchfire orphan. The ones whose parents died in the war and no family members ever claimed for. And that was because her last name was Elrizless, which brand her as the State’s Ward, named after Edward Elric, the infamous researcher who fought for the military’s right.

Falcon took a more observant role. He doesn’t like the Flame Alchemist. He valued human lives and Kalya doesn’t. In fact, it almost seemed as if she’s dead inside. He’d seen her in combats, and she killed when she was told, no hesitation, no regrets, as if it wasn’t human lives she was annihilating, but a broken science project that is a mere trash. He could tell that Neal was just as appalled, but he was kinder, and he asked her if she needed to stop.

She looked at him and toyed with her State Alchemist’s watch. Niklas had been delighted, brushing the silver curls and calling her the best bloodhound yet. She was the only one he would take as a partner due to her submissive nature.

Falcon threw his gun to the ground and left her. Her presence was suffocating, and he just wanted everything to stop. Sometimes he caught her staring at him, with her puzzled eyes. She always looked away when she caught him glaring at her. He was confused as to why Neal, such a kind-hearted soul, would wanna bother with such an ill-advised creature when he himself was such a vigorous preacher of preserving lives.

She was the Fuhrer’s favourite lap dog, and it wasn’t uncommon for Brannistor to come and called for her. She would walk to him, heads down and he will put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to wherever he wishes to go. She never talked, but Brannistor was jolly enough for the both of them. One time, she was covered in blood and grime, but she walked over to Brannistor who smiled widely at the sight of her. He put his hands under her chin and forced her to look up.

“I like my dogs bloody,” he murmured. Kalya said nothing. Neal was uneasy when the Fuhrer brought her away. Falcon can only think good riddance.

The weather was beginning to change; he could hear it in the steady fall of rain. It was a change that was not welcomed, even with the promise of colder days in the short summer, because it meant slushy roads and soggy marches. The chill dampness seemed to pull even more heat from their bones than the screaming winds that had threatened to rip the camps apart all winter.

He followed after the Fuhrer. He had made it clear that he is to follow in this mission. He can see Neal somewhere near him, his eyes a bloodshot and his face pale. Near the Fuhrer the Flame walked slowly, matching her superior’s pace, her head held high and her gloves ready. Falcon looked around in wonder. Apart from some Generals, these are relatively young personnel, and he couldn’t find a reason for them to be rounded up unless it is for prisoner’s duty. But they walked further away from the camp, and he was sure that only nothingness awaits them there.

They walked until they reached a plain. From afar, Falcon could see a huge hole, and it unnerved him. Brannistor ushered them forward and Falcon could see the the hole is occupied. A metal gate was there, and in the middle, Ishvalans huddled together, yelling in their language as the personnel approached them. One woman spat on the ground. Brannistor looked at them, amused.

“Guns out.” He looked at the Fuhrer, startled. He couldn’t have intended to do this? Neal looked at him, alarmed.

“Soldiers.” Brannistor encircled them. “Today we shall avenge our deaths. Your seniors and predecessors have gone through the same ritual. This is who we are. We protect this state. We are the barriers between peace and utter destruction.”

No. No. No.

“These are people who killed your families, and made the rest suffer. For years they have done nothing but instill terror amongst our statesmen. And today, I gave you the honor to avenge them.”

He hesitated. One of the General saw him, a millisecond later in reacting than the other personnel who are already hesitant.

“Don’t,” General Hunt whispered to him. “Don’t think. Just do what you are told. It’s all over once you start invoking your conscience.”

He took out his riffle and aimed. A man looked at him, his eyes filled with bewilderment. He closed his eyes, his hands trembling. Coward, he internally screamed. You can’t even look the man you are about to kill in the eyes.

“No.” He opened his eyes to see the other personnel staring at the Flame, who looked around, hissing and pacing like a cornered animal. Brannistor was unfazed, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword.

“You meant to say?”

“Fuhrer, I do not wish to partake in this mission.”

He laughed, amusement evident in his face. He cooed to the young Alchemist. “There has always been one. Those who developed a conscience right after. A bit ironic that it comes from my best hunting dog, don’t you think so?”

Faramir’s face was stoic. “Alchemist, the reason why you were put behind was due to non-compliance with order,” he said quietly. “Has it not taught you anything at all?”

She flinched and clenched her fist. “I kill in battles,” she snarled. “I kill men with guns and tanks, not women and children in cages.” She tried to appear brave, but her voice quivered, and her whole body trembled in blatant fear. It almost feels hilarious. She is a child among adults, and even her stature is demeaning her. She is a head shorter than their shortest personnel, and by far her frame is the smallest. She is the Flame, but she is also one girl against the rest of the bloodthirsty personnel. Her blue and gold uniform drowned her, making her seemed smaller than she already is.

“I expected better from you, Flame,” he said disapprovingly. “You are an expensive trade after all.”

The Fuhrer took out his whip and hit her on the shoulder. She let out a sound of surprise, but gritted her teeth and soldiered on. Falcon looked at her intensely as the other personnels but Brannistor was relentless, brushing the tip of the whip against her small frame.

“Very brave.” One stroke on her hand. “But foolish.” Another on her leg. She knelt in pain, but her eyes didn’t waver, and he continued his assault. “Don’t sit!” he barked. “You wanted to defy me? Then do so like a soldier. Take off the jacket. Turn.”

Her eyes widened but she unbuttoned it and casted it aside. Brannistor hit her mercilessly, despite her looking like she was about to cry. Falcon looked at her in horror. At one point she knelt again, crying in pain. Brannistor cocked his gun towards her temple. But her eyes were unfazed, as if she couldn’t care anymore.

“Stop it!” somebody shouted. Brigadier General Faramir walked up, his face disconcerted. “Fuhrer, sir, I think we have made a martyr of the child. She has learned enough. Let her go back to the camp. I will deal with her consequently.”

“Have she?” he rested one hand under her chin, forcing her to look up. She hiccupped and whimpered, fists clenching on her gloves. “Stop crying. You look ridicuous, ” he demanded. She panted, her eyes teary. He brushed the tip off his sword on her neck, drawing blood.

He tossed her aside, and she shivered as she tried to stand. “Major Caffrey,” Faramir called. Neal came forward quickly, and Falcon could see that he ached to go to Flame. “You are discharged. Take the Flame back to the camp and deal with her. I’ll come by in the evening.” In a whisper, he added. “Take my stallion. She won’t last long on her feet.”

Neal nodded and nudged the Flame to stand. He helped her up before quickly taking her away. She cringed as she took her steps. Neal spoke to her softly, encouraging her.

The rest of them stared.

“Well?” Brannistor said as the pair vanished. He raised one eyebrow. “Anymore champions?”

A cock of riffles. An aim. An order.

The bodies fell like dead leaves, bloods splattering like an eccentric river.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

The first thing he did when they got back was to wash his hands. He sees blood everywhere, like a permanent stain. The horrible screams haunted him and he sat, his body shivering like a newborn fawn. One of them vomited, while others were more reserved, sitting quietly, staring into the open space. The stench of blood followed him, and he longed to burn the clothes off his back. Maybe turn back time to the time before he aspires to be a soldier. Punch his younger naïve self and disappears. He wasn't sure when he fell asleep. He woke with a start and a pair of puzzled eyes watching him. The medical attendee had been sent to retrieve him and clearly didn't know how to wake him safely. Everyone had heard stories of the Hawkeye, how he became a demon on the battlefield and would kill without so much as a hesitation.

“Major Caffrey for you, sir,” he said, a little bit reserved. Falcon stared at the lad, who couldn’t be much older than him.

“Were you at the mission this morning?” he asked suddenly. He was curious. The boy fervently shook his head.

“I wish I was,” he said truthfully. “I was told that it’s important. But Doctor Grant requires some of us to stay behind and I…” he looked down, flabbergasted. “I’m not a real soldier, sir. I’m just a volunteer and I was made to stay behind.”

Falcon smiled and patted his shoulder. “Then you are lucky.” The blue eyes looked at him, confused.

He doesn’t understand, and that’s a god thing, Falcon thought as he made his way to the Medical Tent. He wondered if he will ever stop seeing the blood on his hands.

It was chaotic in the Medical Tent, as it had always been. He had to dodge from running into nurses and attendants who were hurrying to patch up somebody’s wound or cleaning up the equipment. He asked where Neal is, and a middle-aged nurse, Carla, pointed outside.

He walked out to find Neal leaning against the wall, trying in vain to light up a cigarette. He had a wild look in his eyes, and his hands shook like an addict’s.

“You don’t smoke,” he said in greeting. He doesn’t know what else is to be said.

“I don’t kill either but hey, look where I am,” he gritted his teeth. He offered one cigarette to Falcon, who steadily lit it up, taking a long drag. Neal threw his in anger, burrowing his face in his feet.

“How is she?” Falcon extinguished his. He used to smoke before, with his sisters at the brothel. Hell, sometimes his aunt joined in. But it was merry, and he doesn’t want to tarnish that memory with a fucked-up joint.

“Bad. Grant was livid,” he answered briefly. “Took the beating like a fucking man and I stood at the end of the line, wanting to go home and forget that all this shit had ever happened.”

“Neal, stop.” He stood up, bringing the jacket closer to his body. Neal ignored him, ranting.

“I almost fell in. It’s so easy to follow orders like an obedient dog that I am. Light they called me. Should have named me something more fitting. Dog. Servant. Idiot.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” He clenched his fists. “We couldn’t have done anything.”

“But we could have tried, Falcon!” he yelled. “Kalya did. You and I, we prided on being humane and yet we stayed behind while the esteemed Flame, mass murderess as they called her fought against the order even if her tail is between her legs, trembling in fear. Where is the honor?” he looked at his uniform, worn out from the frequent wear. “Where is the honor in this?.”

Neal threw his cigarette and extinguished it, marching towards the tent with a newfound determination. Falcon scrambled on his feet. Kalya. He wanted to go see her. He entered cautiously. He had always been weary of the Medical Tent. It smells of cigarette smoke and blood, and he is repulsed by it. Soldiers moaned in pain, and nurses, who seemed to have developed a shield amongst them treated them roughly. Kindness had no place here. Expediency takes precedence. There are too many patients for them to be able to be tender.

He found Kalya at a quiet corner, asleep. The back of her shirt was teared open, and the fresh wound greeted him. He stroked her long curls, making sure that it does not go near the open wound. She stirred, and opened one sapphire blue eye, watching him curiously. He thought that she might want him to leave, but instead she extended her hand, intertwining her hand with his. Neal came over, watching her protectively. He raised one hand above her back and slowly brushed his palm on the wound. A bright light and the wounds are closed.

“There’s a limit to what I can do now,” he shrugged. “I’ll work on it once she’s more aware.”

He nodded in understanding, taking in the sight of the child in front of him. She looked ridiculously young. Even in his house, his aunt would ban a girl this young from working, and made her do other things. House work chores. Keeping tabs. He wondered if there is anyone rooting for her, who would go ballistic at the sight of her being treated wrong.

Kalya whimpered and he continued stroking her hair, promising to not let go.

Brannistor came by and barked the order for her to be healed before taking her away. She came back exhausted, wandering around the camp. Falcon found her under the sycamore tree, seeking shelter from the cold. He silently prodded her into his tent and nudged her to sleep, covering her small frame with his. Fraternization rule be damned. He let her down once. It won’t happen again.

“First Lieutenant,” somebody called. He woke up to see a messenger looking at him.

“At ease,” he sat up. Kalya had disappeared. But it was early still, he winced. It’s still dark outside. It can’t yet be past dawn.

“Brigadier General Vahriz summons you.”

He frowned, donning his blue military jacket and washing his face once. He followed the young messenger to the Meeting Tent where Vahriz awaited.

The Fuhrer stood at the corner, watching him intently.

“Fuhrer,” he bowed slightly. “Sir.”

“First Lieutenant Darkride,” Vahriz said tiredly. “Sit down.”

The air is suffocating. Both men looked at each other before Vahriz spoke again.

“Yassir is dead.”

The cold air slapped him in the face, and he felt like he had just crashed into a wall. His Colonel? Dead?

“Wh…How…?”

“Minefield. We lost more than 5 men. But yours are the tricky one,” Vahriz paced. “A Colonel. Dead. A successor has to be appointed.”

Ah. He looked in understanding. “You will take over the team,” he said sharply. “You will take command. We have no other Colonels to spare. I hereby promoted you, with the Fuhrer’s endorsement.”

“I shall do it to the best of my capacity,” he said, his voice clear. The Fuhrer smiled wryly.

“You will need another in your team,” he pointed out. “I have arranged for that.”

A knock, and another messenger came in, with a bewildered Flame. She looked around in confusion until her gaze rested on Falcon.

“I will loan you Flame until we can get another Combat Alchemist for you.” Fuhrer Brannistor walked around them, patting the Flame’s head. “The Flame has shown an exceptionally good record in battlefield, despite some minor…” he smirked. “Disobedience. She’s a good breed, this one. You will listen to Darkride, won’t you?”

She nodded forlornly.

“With much respect, sir,” he stood up. “The Flame is too valuable to be put behind.”

How does he order her to kill? She looked at him, her eyes filled with wonder.

“Nonsense. An Alchemist is valuable only if he can be utilized. What good would it bring me if the Flame sit back, lounging at defense. She’s no Defense. The Flame is a Combat Alchemist, better off in the Frontline.”

The Fuhrer smiled widely. “And Kalya is ferocious. Take her, Colonel. A complimentary from me.”

He brought the bewildered Flame with him. What do I do now? He moaned. Kalya looked at him quietly.

“I trust you.”

He turned his head sharply. Kalya shook her head, the silver tresses tumbling down her shoulder.

“I won’t disobey you, not for any reason. I trust you. If…” she swallowed. “If you tell me to put the gun on my head,” her hand scrambled and she brought his hand to her lips. “I will do it. So don’t worry, Falcon.”

He brought her into his arm and manoeuvred her towards his tent. Dawn is approaching, and he needed to brief his team.

And in all honesty, he thought as Kalya rested her head on his arms. He wasn’t afraid of disobedience. This little creature, he held her tightly. Is putting all her trust in him. And he was afraid that he will fail them all.

And that, he thought, as he wistfully as he let her go.

Is pure terror.


	3. Blood on Our Hands

-5th Year of The Eastern Campaign-

 

Falcon looked at his men. They are whispering among themselves. One of them had even sat at the corner, a look of despair plastered on their faces.

“Hawkeye,” his subordinate called. They’d been calling him that ever since he was in Military Academy. He wished they would stop. It scares him, how much they looked up to him.

“Private,” he nodded. Ryan spread out the map in front of him and used a red marker to mark the enemy’s position. They had taken down the Gate, and had been shooting mercilessly.

At this rate, they would never be able to pass through. Neal looked at him, his eyes dark and called him to the side. He collected some items and used a chalk to draw a Circle. Once done, he put his hand in the middle and transmuted it.

“I…have this…” he murmured, and Falcon had never seen him so dejected. “It has a severe effect. If you can get close enough and throw it near them, it will explode. We can pass through then.”

“Neal…” he looked at his friend.

“I…I can’t do it Falcon. But I know it’s important…”

“Hush now,” he smiled weakly. “You know I’m the better option. Protect the others. Wait for my signal.”

Neal nodded, his eyes teary.

Kalya looked at him sharply. She had been with them for a year, and God, did she grow? Her silver tresses were shorter, after the disastrous attempt of cutting it using a knife that leads to her punching poor Aomine, the victim of circumstances. But she grows to be a real beauty. What was hidden in her childhood days came out beautifully. Her clear alabaster skin with a hint of reddish is soft, unlike the common Amestrian look. Her eyes had shifted somehow to the color of dark gray that suits her whole look. The German Shepherd that they had brought along cuddled at her, gowling at her unhappiness.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she snapped. Yeah and she’s snappy as well. Teenage hormones dwelling in. “I should go there. You know I’m the best person for it.”

But to let her go there is to let her be in the open, vulnerable without any shelter. It is a suicide mission, and while the Flame is the best shot they have for combat, she is not made for direct attacks, not one where her alchemy can’t protect her. Her gloves were soiled, and she sat with a quiet determination.

“No,” he decided. Kalya snarled, but Neal held her back. “I will go. And you,” he said in a warning tone. “Stay here. If I see you anywhere near me or the building I will personally court-martial you.” She looked like she wanted to argue. Falcon pulled out his trump card.

“A gun to the head, and you will still trust me.” He locked his gaze with hers, brown eyes searching into her blue ones. “You promised me.”

She shut her mouth quickly.

Falcon carried the sandy jacket over his own uniform and sneaked out. He can see the enemies there, oblivious to his coming. He inhaled and threw the parcel that Neal passed to him.

The explosion was horrible, the screams of the people even more so. He was thrown back from it, pieces of the shrapnel hitting him. He groaned in pain and stood up. He needed to make sure that everything was clear up there. He brought himself up the building slowly, he wasn’t eager to see burned and charred bodies, their eyes blaming him.

The sight that greeted him almost made him vomit. One man was stuck in the flag pole, his face frozen in pain. Another comrade was hit by the building, his head bleeding in his death.

A groan.

Falcon turned sharply, rifle in hand to see a man making his way toward him with a dazed face. He aimed his rifle, and the man stared at him. Falcon gasped.

“Archer.”

He knew him from his Military Academy days. Archer was the quiet guy nobody ever gives much thought about. He’s an Ishvalan, a secondary citizen. But he was nice to Falcon when Falcon was a freshman, always ready to help, always ready to share his food and notes whenever Falcon was detained for some rule-breaking or another. Archer, who was always smiling and laughing at Falcon’s attempt of humour.

“Falcon…” he stared at the younger man. He looked around to see his comrades dead, his eyes glistening and his face horrified. “Falcon…why…?” he moaned in pain.

He took out a gun and shoot. Falcon was too slow to react, his mind sluggish from the unexpected reunion. He can feel the bullet grazing his torso, and he was thrown back from the impact. Another gunshot and he saw Archer staggered, his head bleeding before he fell like a rag doll at the stairs. A shot of flame, and the man was reduced into ashes.

He can’t breathe. It’s painful. It’s horrible, and he wondered if all his victims felt the same way. His victims were his people, his statesmen. He was choking in his own blood. Please, he thought, somebody end this. He looked up. The sky was clear today, and he missed it. He’d never had the chance to just gaze at the sky anymore.

“Falcon!” he could hear Neal yelling for him. Neal ripped his shirt and used his index finger to draw a circle. His body was convulsing. He was coughing, his eyelids dropping. A blinding white light.

And then, darkness.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

He woke up alone, in the dark. His muscles ached but he wasn’t in pain. He looked down to see his major bruises healed. He sighed. Neal.

He was only wearing his pants and the black military issued shirt. He walked towards the river to wash his face and to drink. Murderers always felt thirsty when they are about to confess, his father, had told him. But you never let them drink, or they will drink their confession along with the water.

He drank like a dying animal, long and plenty.

He looked horrible. His face was hard and battle-weary. His usually honest, gleaming onyx-black eyes that made girls fell for him was unfathomable and cold. He brushed the water through his hair. His blond hair, still short but unkempt now, was caked with dirt and dried blood, making it look like a grisly soil rather than a human hair. His black boots had also suffered. He scoffed, remembering the harsh training where he was made to keep the boots clean at all costs at the expense of losing dinner. He wished his trainer is here so that he could tell him to fuck off.

22 years old and he looked like a seasoned murderer.

Angrily, he kicked the water. No, he’s not a murderer. He enlisted to save lives. To protect his country.

_But why did you kill your own brothers?_

Falcon sat at the river bank and wailed. He doesn’t understand what is happening. When he graduated from the Military Academy, an early graduation from the Drachma-Amestris confrontation, he was determined to make changes, to save his people.

But now he was the one that ripped the life out of them. He’s Azrael, the Death Angel and he doesn’t know why this is happening and who he is anymore. He was nothing more than a machine, killing when made to, abiding by orders from superior no matter how he repelled against it.

Why, why did he have to kill them? Because they speak a different language? Because of their red eyes and skin colour? Because they might have kept the child, in which Amestris had no evidence of, and despite the fact that the glorified Amestrian soldier been here for years and there was no sighting of the child or any indicator that she had ever been there?

“Falcon.”

Neal stood behind him, his face unreadable. Falcon looked at him once. Neal’s head was bandaged, and he limped a bit as he walked. Still, he carved a smile for his friend, and put one hand over Falcon’s shoulder.

“Kalya is reporting to the Fuhrer,” he said quietly. “She’s furious that you made her stay. It took all her willpower and Max to held her back.”

“She’ll live,” he smiled sardonically. Neal rubbed his shoulder, wincing in pain.

“Neal, why are we doing this?”

“Why indeed…” the older man mused. “They made killers out of us. And that is wrong. But this isn’t the time to think about it, Falcon. Look,” he gestured towards the others, sleeping quietly. “You have men depending on you to go home. Lead the way, Falcon. We have faith in you.”

“You still trust me, despite all that I have done?”

“Always.”

The rustling of leaves, and both men found themselves looking at Kalya. Her silver hair seemed peculiar, but abnormally beautiful against the dark night. Her eyes were filled with concern. She wasn’t bandaged like most of them, but thehn, what bullet can go against her Alchemy?

“Falcon. How are you?” she approached him, her voice tender. He smiled softly.

“Good as new.” He held out his arm. She stopped.

And his face was assaulted with a punch.

He yowled in pain, with Neal yelling. Kalya inhaled, snarling like a predator.

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT, YOU!” she screamed. “Making me stay while you go off waltzing into the fire. Fuck you, Darkride!”

“It worked, didn’t it?’ he nursed his face.

“Oops. That’s my cue,” Neal bowed and quickly backed away, leaving him to suffer alone in the hands of the Flame, the traitor.

“I’m not staying behind anymore,” she said angrily. “Wherever you go, I will walk with you. But you,” she said accusingly. “Will not leave me behind and tell me to stand down.

A gun on the head,” she glared at him. “Why won’t you trust me?”

“Kalya,” he said softly. “Even if you put the glove at my heart, I will trust you.”

She looked up in surprised. Her face was filled with resolve as she walked forward and rested one gloved hand against his heart. He breathed in, though he still looked at her.

“You are not afraid,” she said, her voice wavering.

“A gun in the head, glove at my heart,” he quoted. “And I will trust you to the end, because that is how much you meant to me.”

Kalya smiled and backed away. “You are a charmer,” she announced. “But I will take what I can.”

She turned on her heels, back to the camp as Falcon stared behind her. _I will trust you to the end._

Smiling, he followed her back towards his men.


	4. Ghosts of The Past

“Hawkeye, we need help,” Tress gritted his teeth. They had been cornered for hours. The terrorist group were heavily armed, despite being a mere splinter group. He had been told that they are a small rogue group. Apparently the same small group had whiff of their operation and disgruntedly unite.

Falcon sighed tiredly. Despite his desire to be rescued, he was painfully aware of how unlikely that is. It’s a good spot, he reluctantly thought. It’s spacious enough inside, and hard to attack. The mountains around making it secluded, and the military couldn’t sneak in a huge number of people. And they need at least 20 competent men for it to not be a suicide mission.

“Dean,” somebody cocked their gun. Falcon looked up from his bloodied face, as curious as ever. “Dean, somebody for you.”

Falcon was hopeful that a successful diplomat had been sent for them. But the men waltzed in with a slender figure, and his heart fell.

It’s a girl, not that he had any problem with female, God knows that his First Lieutenant is a fine young woman and an even better soldier. This girl was smiling pleasantly, dressed in a short wine red dress, her wavy blond hair tumbling down her shoulder.

“Hello,” she said and smiled.

Dean growled and looked at her. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I’m out of uniform. To be fair, I was vacationing near the Caribbean when the Fuhrer called and asked me to…” she raised one eyebrow when she looks at the bloodied Falcon and the near unconscious Tress. “…retrieve those two. What happened to all prisoners are safe unless the money is not delivered?”

“This is the deposit,” he said suspiciously. “Where’s the money?”

“What money?”

Falcon wondered if the Fuhrer secretly hate him. besides him, Tress slumped down in despair.

“You don’t have our money?” Dean said blankly.

“Amestris has a strict non-negotiation policy with terrorists you know,” she smiled cheerfully. “Couldn’t bring a single cent even if I want to.”

“Why do you come then?” and at that point, Falcon thought that was an excellent question.

“I told you, to retrieve those two,” she said with the same enthusiasm. Dean looked angry, though he cocked the head of his gun and pushed her dress strap down, baring more skin.

“They think I’ll surrender Amestris’ finest soldier for a good fuck?” Dean said, his face red. “They insult me.”

He brought his rifle to her head. “What’s your name? Just so I can slap a name on the coffin.”

“STOP IT!” Falcon yelled. “SHE CAN’T HURT YOU! STOP IT!”

“Major Elrizless,” she brought her hand to the rifle. Unexpectedly, Dean yelped and released the rifle. She tilted her head, eyes closed and smiled brightly. The bright gold from her hair began to melt, much to Falcon and Tress’ astonishment. No, Falcon thought. It’s not melting. It’s shifting into another color, he watched, enchanted. The bright gold immediately disappeared, replaced by a shimmering silver. The bright brown eyes had also shifted into dark grey.

The rifle melted in front of their eyes.

“Kalya Elrizless,” she threw the sorry piece of metal back. “Otherwise known as Flame of Amestris.”

It went chaotic. There were bullets everywhere and Falcon threw his weight and pushed Tress out of harm’s way as they both fell behind a crate. Kalya held out her hand and snapped. Falcon and Tress both watched, entranced, as a huge fire appeared, engulfing the men. There were cries of pain and screeches and the pungent smell of burning flesh.

She was agile, running and dodging and sending flames everywhere. A particularly fast man grabbed her in the arm, cursing. She raised an eyebrow and kicked him in the stomach, taking out a sharp dagger. Grinning, she lunged and with a clean stab, pin him to the ground.

A flash of fire took Falcon by surprise, and he closed his eyes, yelling at Tress to do the same.

“Holy God!” Tress hollered and grabbed Falcon to the back of the crate. He was sweating, his dark blue collar drenched.

A second? An hour?

He heard footsteps, and he forced his eyes open.

Kalya Elrizless stood in front of him and smiled, her silver hair tumbling down her shoulder. Her eyes broadcasted her amusement even as she looked at the two of them.

“Hello, Falcon.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

He was greeted by his relieved battalion. He leaned heavily on Kalya. Even Brannistor was at the door, and he stood quickly upon seeing them.

“Colonel Darkride,” he nodded. Falcon gave him a brief word of apology that he flippantly accepted. Little pet,” he said tenderly at Kalya. “You were late.”

“Some trouble with the locals,” Kalya smiled painfully. “It was taken care off.”

Brannistor frowned but Kalya pushed everyone aside and hollered for medic. Falcon dragged his injured leg, swaying in daze.

“Kalya?” he murmured. She smiled and helped him into the infirmary. He held out his hand, searching. “Kal, wait…”

“Little pet, come here.” Kalya stopped in her track. She didn’t even hesitate to turn back towards Brannistor’s outstretched hand.

“Kal…” he moaned. “Kal…” The flipping door mocked him, and he could see glimpses of Kalya’s face. Once. Twice.

He closed his eyes and drifted into the darkness.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

When he woke up, Neal was by his side, chattering. He didn’t even seem to realise that he had woken up until he raspily called for water. Ever so graceful, Neal brought a glass of water to his lips.

“Boy, you scared us!” Neal began. “For fuck’s sake, can you have a normal, boring mission for once?”

“I wish,” he smiled weakly.

“Kalya would be so glad,” he chattered away. “She’ll be here soon, poor lass. She’s so busy with the Fuhrer. But she comes by every evening to see you.”

                                                                                        


	5. The Soldiers Come Marching Home

“How long has it been again?”

Falcon looked at Neal as he watched over the parade. He smiled diplomatically to the soldiers from Briggs.

“Colonel Darkride,” one personnel bowed respectfully. He nodded and saluted, per custom. Besides him, Neal fidgeted in annoyance.

“Why do I have to go through this?” he whined. “I wasn’t even promoted!”

“You wanted to come, so shut the hell up,” he smiled between his gritted teeth.

For 5 years in a row, both him and Neal had volunteered to come to this blasted parade, welcoming the transition of the personnel from the snowy mountain of Briggs to Central.

“Baby birdie,” a singsongy voice alerted him. He groaned inwardly as Brigadier General Helena Ravenclaw walked towards him, her posies walking faithfully behind him. They were all dressed in the customary all black Briggs uniform, with boots and overcoats. Her long blonde hair danced behind her. 15 years his senior, everyone agreed that the Brigadier General is one of the scariest being to ever existed. “And Soulbinder,” she raised her cap in respect. Neal bowed, smiling flirtingly.

“Brigadier General,” he faked a smile.

“I thought that I might see you here,” she smiled as he took her hand in his, brushing it against his lips. “Will you tell me the reason why you keep attending now?”

“Not yet, Madame,” he gave a hollow laugh. “Not until I secure the one that I seek.”

“Your call,” she shrugged, and it was blatant that she thought lowly of it. “You will sit with me at dinner, no?” He cringed in horror. Dinner with the Fuhrer is a pompous affair, and year after year he was snatched by the Ice Queen.

“You are a real trouble, but yes,” he sighed dramatically. “Peonies?”

“Asters. It is rather significant for me,” she smiled devilishly. “Such a simple meaning, and yet memorable. You will pick me up at the Diplomat’s Quarter?”

“Don’t your company usually stay at the Manor?” he frowned.

“I do what I want,” she waved him off. “Dress sharply. I like my subordinates fetching. Be in time.”

He snorted as she left. Neal smiled and arched his neck. The parade is ending. No girl with wild silver curls and snarky comments greeting them.

“Not our year again, huh?” he said apologetically to Falcon. “I’ll see you at the dinner with Arlene.”

Falcon shrugged and walked down the stage.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

He drove his car to the Diplomat’s Quarter, inhaling deeply. A dinner, and then he can head straight home. He walked to the counter, languidly with a bouquet of asters.

“What do you mean the Brigadier General doesn’t stay here?” he looked at the receptionist, eyes wide.

“Like I told you a thousandth time before Colonel Darkride,” the receptionist growled, her red ponytail almost as red as her face. “Brigadier General Ravenclaw has already gone to the Manor with a General Hughes, now can you please stop bothering me?”

He was about to ask more when the guy at the opposite counter exploded.

“Madame, I told you, General Hughes had left in the evening with his date.”

“What are you talking about?” the girl said angrily. “And I am telling you that _I_ am his date for the evening! Can you please find out what had happened?”

Hughes? Ditched? Sounds familiar. Falcon turned to greet the angry guest.

He dropped the aster on the floor.

She was dressed in a short black gown and high heels, tip-toeing so that she could reach the high counter in her confrontation. She fit in the gown beautifully but that wasn’t the issue.

“This is so messed up,” she gazed at the ceiling, willing for something to happen. Her long, silvery-gray curls tumbled down her shoulder.

He had known that face. That voice.

He took a step forward and called her.

“Kalya?”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

It had been a horrible day. She had been looking forward to go to Central, just in case she could find Falcon and Neal. But she was assigned to stay at the Hotel, to make arrangements for accommodations and she can only watch the parade from her window.

“Don’t be mad, little firecracker,” Hughes lounged on the bed, watching the young Major. “I’ll treat you for dinner.”

“You mean the ones we are having with the Fuhrer.”

“Don’t be grumpy,” he patted her hair. She pouted in indignant. “There you go, firecracker. I’ll grab lunch for us. Be a good girl and stay here, okay?”

He left quickly in a blur of blue and gold. Kalya sighed and sat at the balcony in resignation, watching the commotion downstairs.

Hughes left her again after lunch, claiming that he needs to get ready. She reluctantly wore her dress, specially bought for the event, courtesy of Helena. She walked towards the lobby, expecting Hughes to be waiting for her.

But no Hughes, no car. And the goddamn receptionist is trying to tell her that Hughes had ditched her with Helena?

“This is so messed up,” she groaned. She heard footsteps, and she expected it to be somebody from her team, at least.

“Kalya?”

She knew that voice.

She turned sharply to see a young man, dressed in a strapping white and gold uniform, staring at her. The brown hair was messy in a stylish way. She backed away from the counter, cocking her head.

“Falcon?”

He smiled so widely that she thought that his face might break. He dropped the asters and ran towards her, hugging her. She shrieked in surprised, though she extended her arms, wrapping it around him.

“You are really here!” he exclaimed, spinning her. She laughed out loud in delight, brushing her forehead against his. “Kalya Elrizless in the flesh!”

“Falcon, let me down!” she yelped, throwing her head back, laughing. Falcon laughed, loosening his grip though he refused to fully let go.

“Sir, Miss,” the receptionist said hesitatingly. “There is a message for you.”

“What?!” both said simultaneously in fury.

“I’m sorry but,” he showed them a white envelope. “The letter is conditional.”

For annoying brats that acted as if they haven’t seen each other for years was written in Helena’s handwriting. Falcon opened the letter before showing it to Kalya.

 

_Kids,_

_You two are discharged for the night. Go have fun or whatever. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, little firecracker. Falcon. Be a gentleman or I’ll roast your ass so bad that you are going to have to move to Briggs just so that you can sit._

_Love,_

_Ravenclaw and Hughes._

 

Kalya looked at the letter, unamused. She put on her glove and snapped, burning it to ashes. The poor receptionist looked as if he is going to faint anytime soon. “All my efforts into donning this,” she gestured to the dress. “For God’s sake, Helena. She knew!”

“You look nice,” he said sheepishly. “And I’m not expected till much later. Shall we go have dinner?”

Kalya’s eyes lightened. “But before that,” she said in a singsongy voice and looked at the receptionist again. “Tell me, and put this in Hughes’ tab, what are the best cars that you have to offer?”

The baffled manager looked at her once and offered her the Royce.

“Come on,” she grabbed the key and mischievously grabbed his hand.

The drive was somehow awkward. Falcon glanced at her as she sings along with the radio. She has changed, he noted. She was pretty before, but tired. Malnourished at best. But now, she’s an entirely different person. Briggs had been kind to her. She had grown taller, only a bit shorter than him, but definitely not the small midget he and Neal used to tease. Her hair was longer, and properly trimmed, unlike the ones that her teammates gave her years before. She had been wild as a child, but now she is a rare form of beauty, with her sharp face and beautiful eyes, and the silver hair increased her merit.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked. “There’s French if you want. Or Drachman…”

She pondered for a bit. “Do you know where we can find a good burger?” she grinned, all teeth and claws. “I missed the street burgers. Briggs had this mashed up meat they tried to convince to us as edible.”

Falcon laughed and made a turn as Kalya chattered on about Briggs’ horrendous recipe.

So she hasn’t changed much after all, he thought, driving towards him and Neal’s hangout spot.

The shopkeeper looked at him with one raised eyebrow. Falcon is a regular there, but never did he appeared in such a fancy get-up and never with a girl. Rosie, the waitress threw the rag behind the counter and bawled.

“Hey there,” he said in a friendly tone. The girl with the white? Grey hair? Smiled at him. Falcon mirrored her expression, ordering the usual as he told the girl to find a seat. “Who’s the little lady?”

“My friend,” he said honestly.

“Uh-huh?” Vlad said suspiciously. Falcon’s face, reddened and he laughed at the implication.

“Really, Vlad. She’s an old friend. We served together at Ishval,” he emphasised.

“If you say so,” Vlad laughed good-naturedly. Falcon grabbed her arm, and they walked outside together, laughing and whispering. Friend my ass, Vlad rolled his eyes. Kids nowadays.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

“I do like it!” she laughed. “I mean, I won’t say it’s the best place on Earth but we have nice things. I have my own pet wolves,” she smiled and munched. He had long done with his food, and he choose to indulge her.

“We missed you, you know,” he murmured. “After you got transferred to Briggs, Neal and I had an obsession with everything from the North.”

“I keep up with you guys as well,” she leaned back, grinning. “You have had a lot more conquests now, no?”

“Exaggerations,” he said dismissively. “They see a young Colonel, and a pretty one. They just match my name with every girl they see me with. How about you? Anyone special?”

He could have sworn that she flinched at the question, though she hid it with a laugh. “I’m the Flame. 80% of the population are scared of me and the other 20% knows me.”

“If they know you, they will love you,” he said earnestly. Kalya shook her head, smiling.

“It’s wise to stay away from the likes of me.” He would have argued against it but Kalya shushed him.

“Helena said I’m not to report in until tomorrow,” she pondered. “I’m free tomorrow.”

“Come by the office. Neal would be happy to see you. And you can meet the rest of the team,” he said excitedly.

“Anyone I know?”

“Tress Hunt was in Ishval. Different camp, though. Trisha was in our camp, but I doubt that we have ever crossed path. She knows us, however. But that’s not a good point reference,” Kalya rolled her eyes. “The rest of them, Jasper and Finn are relatively new. Jasper is an amazing sniper. Finn is our freshie. He’s our designated tinker. A bit on the nice side but you’ll like him.”

“Neal isn’t in your team?”

“Only sometimes, when our Op requires an Alchemist. He’s with Research. I doubt he’s gonna be happy at Frontlines. His alchemy is better suited there as far as I know.”

“Definitely. If I’m staying, I’ll be put in Frontlines as well. You don’t have an Alchemist yet, do you?” she smirked. “Maybe I can apply.”

“Only Generals got that privilege,” he snorted. “Ishval was an exception. Brannistor wouldn’t indulge me like that.” She pouted.

Kalya brought her legs up, eyes closed, humming to herself.

“I’m really glad you are back,” he rested his head on her shoulder. Kalya  snuggled closer to him for warmth.

“I will always come back,” she smiled. “Gun to the head, fire to the heart, remember? I have never found anyone that I trust that much ever.”

“How are you…after Ishval?”

She exhaled, but continued to smile. “Nothing I can’t control. You?”

“A little bit of mishaps here and there, but yes. I’m generally fine.” He felt there is a lie somewhere. Is waking up in the middle of the night, sweating from a dream of Ishval normal? He can’t bear the name of Ishval. Is that normal?

They talked for while before the rain started pouring in. Kalya shrieked and pulled on the rooftop.

“Wet matchstick,” he coughed. She smacked him right on the head as he drove back to the Quarters.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she smiled and waved him off after they have exchanged cars again.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed. And he managed to smile genuinely now that there is a promise of tomorrow.

 


	6. The Alchemy Exam

He didn’t tell Neal of his little reunion, only insisting to the fair-haired man that he should stay within the vicinity the whole day.

Neal was lounging on his couch, chattering about last night’s dinner, which he described as dull and God, how could he not fall asleep. A knock at the door, and Tress looked inside. Neal quickly sat up.

“A visitor,” he smiled. Falcon waved him off dismissively, knowing who is about to enter.

“Wicked,” Kalya looked inside.  It was near lunch hour, but she was still impeccably dressed in the blue and gold military uniform. Her hair was tied back as per regulation, with her gloves on.

 “You guys are seriously privileged,” she walked in leisurely.

Neal was almost as bad as him, shouting in glee and hugging her tightly until she squealed at him to let her down.

“You are a real beauty now, aren’t you?” he declared. Kalya snorted.

“I was a kid back then,” she said defensively. “And there’s not much chance to dress up in Ishval now, is there?”

Falcon watched them warmly, befor proceeding to hug her again. He can’t believe that she had returned. All these years, he waited patiently for any news but Briggs had always been isolationist by nature, and news rarely came from the snowy mountain.

“Everyone,” he called to his team. They looked with unfiltered interest at the sight of the silver-haired member. “Kalya Elrizless. You will know her as Flame,” he said fondly.

“Your crush from Ishval?” Jasper smirked before Falcon threw a pen his way.

“I was everyone’s crush,” she said boastfully, earning smirks from the rest of them. “Well I wish I was.”

They liked her, especially Finn, the youngest member in his team. They are close in age, though one is a freshman and the other is a war veteran. Tress even offered to show her around, which Falcon quickly intercepted.

“You are a smooth criminal,” Neal laughed, not letting go of her hand. “Oh God, you have to come see Arlene! And Nina!”

“I would like that,” she said earnestly. “But it will have to wait until the Alchemy Exam.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think I’m even here?” she laughed. “Brannistor summoned me. Probably wanted to show me off to unsuspecting newbies.”

He was uneasy at the mention of the Fuhrer, though he let it pass.

“I was called as well,” Neal added. “Good, we can go together. And surely  Falcon would want to come, wouldn’t you?” Neal said innocently. He groaned in response.

“Urgh fine. If Trisha would let me escape.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

“Tell me why I’m here again?” Falcon sighed. Neal laughed, striding beside him in his white shirt and green pants. He’d never been involved in the yearly Alchemy Exam, but there were less volunteers from the military personnel since everyone was busy with their paperworks. Falcon miraculously managed to keep his ahead of time (with a Lieutenant as horryfing as Trisha it was hard to procrastinate) and he found himself being summoned.

 “Falcon, we have been through this. One. Because I need love and attention. Secondly, Arlene had to take care of Nina and promised you dinner if you do so and thirdly because you hate paper work and Trisha will shoot your lazy ass if I’m not there to stop her from doing so.” He walked cheerfully. “And hey, Kalya will be here and you promised to come watch.”

He rolled his eyes and assessed the training ground. Some people were sitting, others were training. A majority of people were huddled in the middle, watching and exclaiming in adoration. Alchemy Exam had always been a major event, open to the public with the hopes of attracting more potential Alchemists and for accountability’s sake. He never quite understand that. And the Alchemists fought with each other all the time, in combat simulations. Neal told him that it’s important to sharpen the Alchemy, though Falcon never quite understood why since it resides in their blood. Talent does not cease, and Alchemy is a biological reaction, that you couldn’t quite take away.

“Where are all the Alchemists?” Neal shrugged and they went over. Civilians are not allowed into the Parade Ground, though they are still allowed to go as far as the seats offered.

Ah.

The Combat Alchemist were displaying their respective Alchemy. Neal shrugged and told him that the Defence Faction will have their own inspection later on. The Iron Alchemist made a metal wall around the parade. Another, Badger Alchemist shyly talked to the pupils and showed them how he raised the ground to make a tunnel to surround it. Neal looked around in interest. He was more often than not located within a team, or do the behind the scenes work. He’s not from the Frontlines, his Alchemy far too gentle to be within that specified class. He, however, adored the showmanship.

There were gasps of admiration, some horrified and the duo saw Kalya, practising her Fire Alchemy. She wore a simple black shirt and pants, with the black military boots. Her hair was tied back. She didn’t even bother getting into the attack position, merely standing straight and snapping her right glove. Her left hand she put it in her pocket, her face a mask of boredom. One Alchemist attempted an attack, throwing a soil cannonball. She flipped her hair and sighed before incinerating it. Falcon have seen her before, but he had to admit that she’s far more powerful than the average Alchemists he had worked with. He can somehow get why people are crowding. Children looked at her in adoration and one boy was trying to imitate her but to no avail. Though, he’d never known Kalya to be a show-off, and he wondered why she was publicizing her Alchemy.

Until Fuhrer Brannistor came over and smiled, putting one hand at her shoulder.

“I expected nothing less than a personnel of Briggs,” he said loudly. “Well-performed, Kalya. You are excused for now. Return to the stage for the Opening Ceremony.”

She bowed and picked up her gears, passing through the gate where the people were lurking. The crowd dispersed quickly to let her leave, and she put on a black cap and her royal blue jacket and grabbed her sling bag, trying to get out.

“Kalya!” Neal yelled. “Hey, Kalya! Over here!”

She turned around to see them, and smiled widely, barrelling her way through all the people.

“Hey!” she hugged them. “Thank goodness for something familiar.”

“I didn’t know you were enlisted today,” Neal prodded.

“Brannistor choose today to give my Yearly Assessment,” she said spitefully. “Not that I care about it. The physical assessment is going to be a living nightmare though.”

“Who will you met?”

“Him. In sword,” she sighed. “I’m good with hand-to-hand combat but I’m sure Brannistor is looking forward to kick my ass.”

“He won’t hurt a girl much…” Falcon said. Both Alchemists looked at him as if he was crazy. “Right?”

“That’s sexist,” Neal pointed out. “And also untrue. There’s little merit to things like gender, race and hierarchy in Alchemists.”

“The beauty of Science.”

"Flame!" somebody yelled. A young man with a huge scar across his face frowned as he approached them. "Come on already. You're up."

"Blodhren," she groaned. "Fuck!"

"Language," he chastised. "Get on the fucking stage. You too, Soulbinder."

Falcon shrugged and walked alone to the stage. It wasn't long before the Fuhrer walked in, an easy smile on his face. Kalya and Neal walked behind him, their faces miserable. 

“Some of us choose the Second Branch, devoting themselves to Rehab and Defence” the Fuhrer gestured towards Neal. Neal casually dragged the knife towards his arm, allowing the red liquid to go through. He drew a circle, and per usual, a blinding white light, and it was healed.

“Others are better suited in the First Branch, playing in the frontlines, and joining the Tactical Device and Combat Division” and Kalya took her cue. She threw the basketball that she’d been holding and snapped her fingers. The ball was quickly enveloped in fire, and in a matter of seconds, disappeared into the thin air. “You have seen our State Alchemists, and let it be known that we put a high standard for the position. The Exam is meant to help us assess your capacity. Without any further delay…” he took out his sword. The two Alchemists backed away, and the Fuhrer cut through the circle.

“Let the Alchemy Exam begin.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Falcon had never seen a more frustrating Examination. Military Academy’s exam was hard, but the Alchemy Exam was a pure torture, physically and mentally.

Kalya and Neal talked about the pupils, often unimpressed with their skills.

“Where do they find these brats?” Kalya commented. “I didn’t know that it’s possible to let your Alchemy go that soft.”

“Their only fighting experience is with their puppy fights,” Neal smiled grimly. “Their Alchemy couldn’t flourish well. Ah, they got the better end of the deal I dare say.”

Where Falcon was gaping with admiration, Kalya and Neal scoffed and ignored the pupils. They helped picked some of the better ones. Neal then choose to endorse an Alchemist that was able to transmute the soil into a giant wall. Provided that it crumbled at the first attack, but Neal was kind enough to teach him how to strengthen it.

Kalya, however, merely walked through, not giving a secondary look to students who looked at her hopefully. One student even went as far as to ask her what she looked for in a protégé, but she merely shook her head and dismissed him.

One of the younger ones (even then the girl was a couple of years older than Kalya) timidly showed her the project she’d made, the ability to shape the soil into inanimate objects. She made a small statue of an elephant, and Falcon looked at it in amusement.

Kalya looked at it boredly. She took a stick and drew a complex Circle. Where the girl took her time, Kalya drew it effortlessly, as if it comes naturally to her. The crowd quickly gathered around her. She pressed her hand in the middle of the Circle and transmuted a medium-sized statue of a bird. The crowd watched in awe, and waited in anticipation to see to whom will the Flame award it to.

Kalya turned to Falcon and smiled, holding it out. “A hawk for the Hawk’s Eye.”

Falcon laughed and pocketed it. The disappointment was visible in their eyes, and Falcon felt bad, the fact that Kalya was giving him more attention than any of them had received the whole day.

“Come on, Major,” Brannistor smiled happily. Kalya bowed and transmuted a long stick with a sharp end to it.

“Ready when you are.”

The fight was intense. Brannistor didn’t hold back at all, and Falcon almost wanted to jump in and dragged Kalya out. But in all fairness, Kalya wasn’t being gentle as well. Both sustained injuries, more on Kalya than the Fuhrer.

Metals clashed, sparks fly. Kalya was young, and she maximized her full capacity and the surroundings. Brannistor, restricted by old age, but with an overwhelming experience.

In a moment of confusion, the Fuhrer extended his right leg and slipped Kalya off balance. She fell on her back, and Brannistor walked over her, and pointed one of the tip of his katanas at her bare throat, baring the Fire Alchemy symbol she always wore and went further down to her chest. She swallowed her words and lie down quietly. The crowd went quiet, as they watched the event unfolding in front of them. He smiled and redirected his sword to her arm, drawing the first blood. She stared at him for a few seconds, before he backed away, and both Alchemists bowed to each other.

“That is one of the best display of swordsmanship I’ve seen in a while, Flame. Please, feel free to spar anytime,” Brannistor took off his gloves. Kalya respectfully agreed to it and vanished into the crowd. Falcon didn’t follow her. Kalya had a ferocious temper and she doesn’t like to lose at all, so he doesn’t feel like being the recipient of the flame from the gloves.

Falcon stayed to watch Neal’s assessment. After the Fuhrer-Flame showdown, everything else seemed mild, but there were some interesting combats to watch. Neal’s was memorable, and Neal choose knives rather than any other. It was amusing to watch him. He’s sleek a panther and while his opponent, a loud Iron Alchemist was a force to be reckoned with his axe, he cede defeat when he realised that Neal was merely taunting, and refused to go to the full extent as to not cause injury. Kalya came back right before the fight, her arm bandaged. She put on her silver necklace back and let her hair down.

“Nice one, Soulbinder,” she said. Neal grinned and bowed. “Madam Flame.”

“Colonel Falcon,” Brannistor called. Falcon quickly saluted. “I didn’t know that you will be in charge today.”

“Drew the short straw,” he smiled. said short straw is bouncing up and down, grinning. “Though I would have to say that it has been amazing.”

“Alchemists, they like their drama and flairs,” Brannistor laughed. “Would you like to join in, Colonel? I’m sure some of our Alchemists will be accommodating.”

Get slayed by one of the people from the freak show? Nu-oh.

“I’ll see to it sometime later,” he laughed. “I do feel out of place here.”

“Don’t be,” the Fuhrer walked, and Falcon had to follow him. “You will ascend to be General, and you will have one of them,” Neal raised one eyebrow at the implication even as Brannistor gestured towards the pupils. “Working under your command. Familiarise yourself. I understand that you have Soulbinder in your team?”

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly and frowned. He doesn’t want a change. Neal is invaluable in his team.

“For a team that works in the frontlines, I’m surprised you opt for an Alchemist from the Second Branch.”

“Neal is very adaptable.”

“And so I’ve seen. I will look if we can allocate somebody from the First Division. It will be a complete team then.”

Kalya dragged him down to see Neal’s Alchemy Asessment. Falcon looked fondly as Neal easily scored. There are significantly less crowd and Falcon suspected that it was because they are less ‘macho’. But Neal looked happy enough with his little crowd so he had no complaints. Kalya was encouraging, and she had genuine interest to see how it works.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

In the end, nobody was picked from the Exam.

Only then that Falcon learned that it was rare that a State Alchemist is picked. But he can see why. A State Alchemist is a beneficiary of a lot of the state’s resources, and Amestris is generous with her alchemists. A mansion, continuous fundings, a lab and an automatic position of Major. He wondered about Kalya and Neal’s graduation.

“There was a girl that graduated with me. The Celebration were extra good then. Two Alchemists graduating is almost unheard of,” Neal smiled ruefully. “But she walked out of the programme. Can’t stand the continuous pressure.”

“I remember that. I was there,” Kalya shrugged. “I have to be exempted from Physical Assessment until I was at least 13 because I can hardly hold the sword, but my Master insisted that I come watch at least. I was the only graduate of my year,” Kalya said thoughtfully. “I feel bad, though, my Flame can be overwhelming,” but both Falcon and Neal knew she didn’t care and merely smirked.

“I’m starving,” Neal grumbled. “Lets go back, Falcon. Hey, Kalya, do you have plans tonight?”

“My Brigade wanted to go bar-hopping. Why?”

“Aren’t you a bit too young to go bar-hopping?”

“Sheesh, sure Dad,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ve been drinking since I was 14, don’t you dare hold that against me.”

“Maybe you can skip your socially inappropriate and illegal activities and join us for dinner?” Neal smiled. “Before you say no, let me take out my Arlene and Nina’s Picture Compilation…”

“Ah,” she smiled, her eyes softening. “I…would love to. But I’m gonna have to leave early.”

“Falcon Aizengard Darkride, do something!” Neal scowled.

“Your middle name is Aizengard?” she looked at her and grinned like a cat about to get the canary. He facepalmed. Stupid middle name.

“Aizengard, Aizengard, Aizengard,” she chanted and laughed. “What does it mean, anyway?”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Aizengard, it means a lighthouse.”

“A…lighthouse?”

“My dad used to love sailing,” he smiled. “He said every sailor knows a lighthouse. It will always be there, come hell or high water. It stands there as a warning or to tell you that…” he looked into her eyes. “You are home.”

Kalya intertwined her fingers with his, and he smiled fondly at her, and maybe, he felt at home as well.


	7. The Murderer, The Abandoned, The Orphan

Life works in a mysterious way.

Kalya stared at the ceiling. The room is cramped and whitewashed, as if the occupant had just moved in and couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. There were several posters of a band. A clock somewhere that should have been on the ceiling but hey, who is she to judge. She could hear it ticking slowly, and it’s excruriating. Kalya She sat up, trying to get rid of the dizziness. The only thing that Kalya wanted now was to figure out where her jacket went, and the snoring guy besides her isn’t helping at all. She berated herself. But then, it was late, and she wanted to sleep so bad. The waiter seemed like a decent enough chap so she quickly decided to go on. It’s National Day after all, she can sleep in if she wants to.

Bad decisions in life. One bad night, one lost underwear and the damn bastard had the guts to fall asleep on her. She showered as soon as she woke up, looking in distaste at the bathroom condition.

“Kalya,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist. She inhaled sharply, trying to convince herself to not punch her patron. She would be so delighted to wipe his memory off. “Stay with me today?”

“I have work,” she said apologetically. He smiled and rested his head on the nape of her neck.

“You are an enigma, Kalya,” he announced. She almost snorted. “Who are you? How did you come to be here, you little enchanter?”

That’s just gross. She pushed him back to the bed and stroked his hair.

A blinding white light and he was back sleeping with no recollection of what had happened. Kalya jumped from the bed, humming to herself as she helped herself to the pastries in his parlour downstairs. Not bad, she thought. There’s a silver lining after all amidst of all that snoring and octopus hands. She looked around, as per usual, her eyes landing on a smart black hoodie. She put it on herself, liking the weight of it. She had always had a little problem with _thieving._ Nothing big. A watch. Books that looks interesting. Food. Jackets mostly. She liked that most, with its ability to provide warmth and comfort.

She walked out quietly, covering her head with the black hoodie. She walked down the road, headphones on, breathing in the cool air. Maybe she’ll go the park. Just because.

_Who are you? How did you come to be here, you little enchanter?_

She stopped in her track, letting the wind blow her silver curls before heading to her house. Maybe she’ll shower again. She felt dirty, and it’s not the feeling she wanted to have on National Day. Hayate and Haru, her two loyal huskies barked when they saw her. She swore that Hayate was judging her, but then, who is she to not accept that? She walked into the shower, forcefully cleaning herself raw.

 _How did you come to be here_ ?

She let the water run on her face and sighed. How indeed.

At the height of the long wet summer sees Jerre Simmon at the military ground desperately hoping to sell the Elrizless girl.

“Have I got a deal for you!” the priest began, perhaps inauspiciously.

“Another deal like Calo and Galdo, maybe?” said the military personnel. His eyes were cold an calculating, and Kalya cowered from fear. “I’ve still got my hands full training those giggling idiots out of every bad habit they picked up from you and replacing them with the bad habits I need.”

“Now, sir.” The priest shrugged. “I told you they were shit-flinging little monkeys when we made the deal, and it was good enough for you at the—”

“Or maybe another deal like Sabetha?” The personnel’s richer, deeper voice chased the priest’s objection right back down his throat. “I’m sure you recall charging me everything but my dead mother’s kneecaps for her. I should’ve paid you in copper and watched you spring a rupture trying to haul it all away.”

“Ahhhhhh, but she was special, and this girl, she’s special, too,” said the priest. “Everything you asked me to look for after I sold you Calo and Galdo. Everything you liked so much about Sabetha! She’s a real enchanter, but a mongrel. And I can even let you have her at a … a discount.”

The officer spent a long moment mulling this. “You’ll pardon me,” he finally said, “if the suggestion that the minuscule black turnip you call a heart is suddenly overflowing with generosity toward me leaves me wanting to arm myself and put my back against a wall.”

Jerre Simmon tried to let a vaguely sincere expression scurry onto his face, where it froze in evident discomfort. His shrug was theatrically casual. “There are, ah, problems with the girl, yes. But the problems are unique to her situation in my care. Were he under yours, I’m sure they would, ahhhh, flourish positively.”

“Oh. You have a _magic_ girl. Why didn’t you say so? _Magnificent_. I’ll plant her in the fucking ground and grow a vine to an enchanted land beyond the clouds.”

“Ahhhhh! I’ve tasted that flavor of sarcasm before, Fuhrer.” The priest  gave an arthritic mock bow. “ _That’s_ the sort you spit out as a bargaining posture. Is it really so hard to say that you’re interested?”

The Fuhrer shrugged. “Suppose Calo, Galdo, and Sabetha might be able to use a new playmate, or at least a new punching bag. _Suppose_ I’m willing to spend about three coppers and a bowl of piss for a mystery girl. But you’ll still need to convince me that you deserve the bowl of piss. What’s the girl’s problem?”

“Her problem,” Jerre Simmon said darkly, “is that if I can’t sell her to you, I’m going to have to slit her throat and throw her in the bay. And I’m going to have to do it _tonight_.” Kalya stiffened and Jerre Simmon stroked her hair. “This one has been leeching off us for too long and I have no use for something so destructively blasphemous.”

“And why shall I care about her wellbeing?” the officer said in amusement. “I have an army of Alchemists, more mature, more independent. Why should I invest so much on a stray pup? A Catchfire orphan nontheless. Do you even have the papers of the mongrel?” Jerre rolled his eyes.

“Everything is taken care of. And because,” Simmon smiled. “You like your toys a little bit odd and this one can burn the shit out of anyone.”

The Fuhrer smiled and held out his hand to the girl. She walked awkwardly, her eyes wandering in fear.

“A pretty face is always welcomed in the household,” the Fuhrer shrugged. “And if she can’t perform in the war, she could be on the entertainment side give or take in several years.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Neal brought Nina to the park for the firework show. He met some soldiers. We always get a tad too sentimental about the day, he thought. He saw Trisha with her husband and children, and he thought he saw Tress with yet another girlfriend. He’s confident that he’ll bump into the rest of his team and Falcon’s later once the event properly starts. She was playing happily by the lake, with Arlene watching her attentively. The brown curls that is identical to his reminded him of his own childhood days. Neal Caffrey has always been known as the polite, shy, boy down the street.

“Sissy,” Tanner spat on him. Neal sat quietly, wiping the blood away from the corner of his mouth. “You should have never been born. That bastard should have drowned you at birth.”

“Come on, Tann,” Azaria said boredly. He glanced at Neal once and proceeded to take a drag from his cigarette. The ashes dirtied his black gloves, but he took no notice of it. “I’m bored already. Can we just leave him alone?”

Tanner is the brunt of his existence ever since he understand what misery means. While other people are smart enough to leave him alone, Tranner is dumb enough to want to come near him. He tried to minimise the damage. It wouldn’t do at all to accidentally make the ground collapse under him. Appealing, but not very strategic.

Tanner shrugged and kicked him hard in the rib. He groaned and fell on his side, his eyes bloodshot. Tanner rounded them up and left, laughing and horsing around as they abandoned him.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He wanted to die so bad.

It was a lot later, and he must have passed out but he woke up at a white room. Blinking, he attempted to move but the searing pain shot him like a wildfire.

“Don’t,” somebody said in amusement. Azaria sat on the chair in front of him on the medical attendance’s table. He had a cigarette between his lips, and his jet black hair was tied back in a short pony tail. Neal saw that his wound had been bandaged. There was a bitter taste in his mouth and the smoke of the cigarette burned his eyes, making it teary. But he dare not complain to Azaria. Not when he’s the only somewhat ally that he has.

Azaria stared into the blank space. For the longest time they remained in silence until he finally succumbed.

“Why?”

Azaria turned to him and smiled, extinguishing the butt of the cigarette. “Because you are like me, and I am like you.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, genuinely confused. There was no way he could be similar to Azaria. Top student, most popular guy in school.

But he stood up and walked towards him. He took out from his wallet a white paper and pressed on it. A blinding white light and a small flame appeared. “I’m an Alchemist too,” he whispered conspitarorally. Neal looked at him in disbelief. They lived in a conservative society where if you have a power, you are generally a form of blasphemy. It was considered the highest form of shame and taboo. Neal’s power had always been explosive, especially because there was nobody to help groom him. Even his mother is afraid of him. The only reason she dare not do anything to him was because she was freaked out by it. Azaria smiled at his baffled expression.

“I’m just better at hiding it I supposed,” he closed his hand and the flame disappeared. “But I’m not very good at Alchemy.”

They talked and Azaria left him soon, his mind racing with the new discovery.

The next day, he was walking back when he found Azaria smoking at the school gate. The other man smiled at him before asking him out.

Neal was excited beyond belief. Afterwards he and Azaria developed an odd form of friendship. They practised their Alchemy and duelled. All in the outmost secrecy.

“I wanted to join the military one day,” Azaria admitted as they lied down, worn out after practise. Neal was huffing and puffing. He was a lot less fitter than the other man.

“Why?” Neal closed his eyes. “It doesn’t seem like a grand thing. And I don’t wanna have to kill.”

“But we won’t have to hide anymore,” Azaria half sat, looking down at Neal. “We can be proper Alchemists, you and I. can you imagine that? Our own labs and researches. We can duel in public. I heard Central is a lot more liberal. We’ll be somebody important.” His eyes brightened. “I’ve heard of another Fire Alchemist within the military. They said she is very young, barely a teenager but,” his hand was all over in his excitement. “She is very powerful. I would want to study. I would love that opportunity.”

“I don’t know…” he hesitated.

“Don’t you want that?” Azaria asked. “To be able to go out in public and show our powers. We can leave this horrible town and these horrible people. Or,” he grinned. “I can join the military and you can come with me. We’ll be together, you and I. And we can do anything we want. You can live in my mansion, have your own lab for your potions. Doesn’t sound bad, does it?”

“Ugh, you make me sound like some trophy wife.”

“Well...” Neal punched him lightly.

Neal pretended to think about it and Azaria brushed his lips lightly against his. “Please?” he said pleadingly. Neal laughed and nodded.

It was late winter that he realized that he couldn’t find Azaria.

He went everywhere, asked everyone but nobody knows where the raven haired man is. Out of desperation, he went to Azaria’s house. It was a huge mansion, on the hilltop, overseeing the town he lived in. He fidgeted while waiting for the master of the house. He had always been afraid of Azaria’s family. Even Azaria was terrified of his father and brothers. They hated Alchemy, he had told him. They wouldn’t spare him even if he is family.

“Sir?” a ginger haired maid came to him. “Sir, please, don’t linger here.”

“Where is Azaria?” he demanded. “I…I just wanna see him. I’ll leave if he comes down.”

The girl looked at him, and her eyes were teary. She started crying, and Neal was alarmed.

“ _They killed him,_ ” she sobbed. “They killed the young master.”

Neal was taken aback but the girl was on her knees, weeping.

“They found him practising his black magic,” she continued. “And the Master was so angry. And he keeps beating the young master and he just stopped moving and we don’t…”

Neal felt numb. Azaria is dead.

What do he do now?

He doesn’t remember much. He remembered begging to be let in Azaria’s room. There were so much blood and he was nauseous. He remembered crying uncontrobally, calling for Azaria. He remembered grabbing Azaria’s gloves. The stupid black gloves he had always insisted to wear to do fire alchemy. And he remembered coldly telling the ginger haired girl to leave and never come back.

And he remembered that night, he came back and drew a circle belonging to Azaria on the floor of the mansion while everyone was asleep and activating it. He watched numbly as the fire ate parts of the mansion, like a poetic justice. The military came, and dragged him out even while he was thrashing and hollering to be let go. Azaria’s family didn’t get to be rescued. He remembered his mother there, screaming and hollering like a madwoman, yelling for him to go to hell.

He laughed and cried loudly like a maniac, and when the Brigadier General Faramir later on visited him in his cell and invited him to join the military in exchange for a pardon, he nodded numbly.

When he faced the Fuhrer, the man in front of him laughed when he read his background.

“All these for love?” he scoffed. “You’re a lover. One that lost their soulmate. Now, that’s a good name for you. Soulbinder,” he tossed the file aside. “Soulbinder, eternal seeker to an everlasting damnation.”

He was too numb to give a fuck.

“This will be your key,” the officer said, boredly. “Write down your name and rank. We’ll make a new identification for you.”

“Can I keep my old name?”

“Yea, yea. Call yourself God if you want to. Just write down something.”

He jotted down Neal Caffrey and Alchemist. He was about to give back the form when he changed his mind at the last minute and scratched it out.

_Neal Azaria Caffrey. Soulbinder Alchemist._

He would have loved this. Smiled and fooled around. He would have been happy.

And he would have nagged Neal to do the same.

Grinning, Neal give back the form and cheerfully asked where the mess hall is.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

“Stay away from that one,” Brigadier General Faramir held Kalya close to his side. She glanced at him curiously, taking her eyes away from the brunet who was talking to some of the other military personnel. He seemed friendly, and young enough. There’s not enough people of Kalya’s age and she’s tired of eating with the Fuhrer or the Brigadier Generals.

“He’s a murderer,” he whispered again. She was surprised, but she had to take his words for it. Once they joined the State Alchemist programme, all details of their prior life was erased. No criminal records, bith certificates, nothing. It’s digitally impossible to look for informations during that period of time. “Burned down the entire mansion like nothing. He was laughing when I picked him up. No regrets. So make sure you stay away from him, alright?”

He doesn’t seem like a bad person but Kalya nodded faithfully.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

'Falcon Aizengard Darkride', Marissa thought to herself as she watched the 4 year old sat outside, his face gloomy. 'Is an unfortunate child.'

“Falcon?” the dark haired girl asked. “Falcon, do you wanna come in?”

The brunet shook his head.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Another shake of head.

“Can I hang out with you?”

A flash of guilt and the boy nodded. Marissa is an experienced enough escort to know when she wasn’t actually wanted but to her relief, the girl sat and began chattering to Falcon about things. She took out a cigarette and gave one to Falcon who smiled appreciatively.

“I don’t want him.”

Violet looked at her with shifty eyes, the cigarette on her lips crushed by her teeth. Viola raised one eyebrow and called for Julia to come in and take the boy out. Falcon doesn’t seem to be thrilled. He keep looking back at his mother, as if afraid that she’s going to abandon him.

“Come on now,” Julia smiled kindly, her red hair tumbling down her shoulder. “Do you want milkshake? Katniss makes amazing milkshakes.”

Falcon smiled slightly and followed Julia. Violet waited until they were out of sight until she began speaking.

“That’s your son you’re talking about,” she growled. “Your own flesh and blood.”

“I know, I know,” Violet said, looking upset. “But he looked so much like his father,” she spat. “Fucking righteous bastard.”

“Kaisar Darkride is a good man,” Viola frowned. “Better than you’ll ever be apparently.”

“Shut up!” she hissed. “You think you are more superior to me?” she laughed cruelly. “Brothel keeper. At least I know when to shut my legs. It's no wonder that Kaisar chooses me over you.”

“You better leave.” Viola stood up. Violet looked at her indifferently. “Leave the boy. He doesn’t need a mother like you. If Kaisar had lived, he wouldn't have taken long to see the snake that you are.” 

Violet said nothing but she was gone first thing in the morning.

Falcon was unconsolable. For the longest time he didn’t speak. Didn’t react. And she’s confident that he secretly hated her. Blamed her for his mother’s act of abandoning him here.

But Viola can’t bear to let him be. She didn’t spoil him but she made sure that he would always feel like he has a home.

“Ma’am?” he said quietly. Viola raised one eyebrow. He walked towards her and put something on the table. He grew up a looker, Viola noticed. He has the sharp feature of his father and Violet’s infamous blond hair and clear brown eyes. He is neither fat or skinny. Just the right frame, from all the sports he played and the strict diet Viola imposed. She’ll be shooing off girls off her porch before long. Some of her older customers had already eyed the infamous prodigy.

Falcon bowed and left. Beside her, Lilly giggled as Viola poked on the purchase.

“What is that? A bomb?”

“Silly,” she laughed. “It’s Mother’s Day. Open it.”

Viola did. And the next day, when Falcon came in to clean the bar, he found Viola playing the piano, a brand new scarf draped over her dress oddly. Viola didn’t say anything, but from the way Falcon smiled, she understood.

She thought him everything. How to dance and hold his alcohol. How to gather connections and build a network. How to hold a gun and maintain an air of confidence around him. How to play the world in his hand.

And her girls spoiled Falcon. They fussed over him and taught him how to seduce a girl, and how to appear attractive and appeal even when he doesn’t try. They are making a killing machine, she thought in amusement as she watched Falcon danced with their new girl, Antoinettte.

When Falcon was 19, she found him sitting uncomfortably at the table of the bar and when she peered at the paper on the table, he didn’t resist.

_Letter of Acceptance of Falcon Aizengard Darkride to Amestris Millitary Academy._

She didn’t even know that he applied. Falcon looked at her hopefully and she looked back at the man she had thought as her own. This isn’t the odd child they can trick with a cup of milkshake. This is a man with a fiery determination, as headstrong as Viola herself.

“Do you wanna go there?”

A nod.

She smiled fondly and brushed her lips to the crown of his head.

“Then lets get started on the preparation, shall we?” she said, and Falcon’s eyes brightened. “No son of mine will appear less than an aristocrat, military rules be damned.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Neal stood straight at the front as he watched the Fuhrer. If he had looked further, he would have seen Falcon doing the same thing in his own line. And Kalya stood at the front, a couple of men away from Neal with the Alchemists and Generals, in a uniform that were a couple of sizes too big, the cap covering her face. The Dove Alchemist, a gentle woman asked her if she’s alright and she nodded quietly.

Viola came to say goodbye to see her nephew. Falcon spend the last few minutes with his ‘sisters’ as they fussed over him, complimenting his uniform. Neal walked around aimlessly and settled to sit near a group of family. He wished Azaria was here. Over the year, he still couldn’t forget the other man. He was his first love, and that scars him even more. One of the girl, a beautiful girl with pixie blonde hair and calm brown eyes notices him and came over and sat beside him.

“Nobody here for you?” she asked, not unkindly. He shook his head. “I have a partner…but he died recently.”

“I’m here for nobody too,” she smiled kindly. “My only family, my brother died in battle, and they invited me to come for the Honouring Event. Shall we pretend that we are here for the other, soldier?”

“If you would tell me your name.”

“Arlene,” she smiled. “It’s sudden, I know, but,” she blushed prettily. “Will you write?”

“Neal. Yes,” he smiled, weirdly happier. Arlene extended her hand, and they hugged.

Kalya looked around. Nobody was here for her, and she ignored the envy she felt. From afar, she can see Allan Grant, the bastard, talking to his wife. She saw her, and called for her.

She turned around on her heels and left.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Falcon was hollering in pain. The bullet was lodged somewhere he knew he wouldn’t like. He was carted off to the Medical Tent where he was greeted by the smiling face of a man with wavy brown hair. “I’m the Soulbinder Alchemist, please calm down while I figured out, fuck, that looks painful,” he knifed Falcon’s uniform. Falcon wanted to yell at his blatant relaxation.

“No time for scalpels,” he sighed. He uncapped a marker and drew something on his abdomen. A blinding white light, and before he knew it, the pain lingers, but the wound.

Was healed.

“Good as new,” the other man said, pleased.

“I need to go back,” he moaned. “My…men.”

“Stupid,” the man with the brown hair laughed. “You can’t protect anyone if you are dead. Now come lie down, Major. We’ll see if we can get that bone mended by tomorrow. And don’t worry, your team returned a little after you did. Rest, soldier.”

Falcon looked at the other man. He seemed so carefree, so accepting of his fate.

“Falcon,” he said quietly. The other man raised one eyebrow. “My name is Falcon Darkride.”

“Well, nice to meet you,” he extended his hand. “I’m Neal. Neal Azaria Caffrey.”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Kalya crouched and stared ahead. Science. Science is good. Science is beautiful.

That was scary. She doesn’t like the explosive devices. It scares her like shit. But Brannistor wanted her forwards, despite her thrashing. He hit her in the face and before she could even react, said in his coldest voice.

“Now.”

She threw her flame forward, not caring whom she hit. Brannsitor pushed her aside and marched forward, muttering _get the mongrel out of my sight._ She ran away from Faramir at first instance. She was only 13, but she knew some stuffs.

  1. Always, always wear her gloves when she does Alchemy.
  2. Human beings are bad.



And Alchemy will never disappoint.

"Hydrogen... Helium... Lithium, Beryllium... Boron... Carbon... Oxygen... Nitrogen, Neon, Sodium... Magnesium, Phosphorus..."

She heard somebody talking quietly behind the crates, and two men in the military uniform came in. one with brown hair, and a smiling face. His friend followed suit, with hair as golden as the sun, and a curious face. The guy with the brown hair smiled at her before he spoke.

“Hey, you're the Flame Alchemist, right?”

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Neal intertwined his fingers with Arlene, who rested her head on his shoulder. “Gotcha!” somebody yelled. Kalya was thrown off balance, wavering before she looked down to see Nina hugging her from behind. Hayate and Haru barked in greeting. Haru circled the little girl happily, and Nina petted the cream coloured husky.

“Aunty Kalya!” she chirped happily. Kalya laughed and brought her into his arms.

“Hey, kiddo,” she took off her headphones. “Is your daddy here?”

“Up and about,” Neal strolled, looking at her fondly. He hugged her once.

“Neal!” she squirmed. “Why are you acting all sentimental?”

He said nothing, though he petted her hair and continued smiling. “I haven’t seen you for awhile.”

“You are such a nag,” she rolled her eyes. “I told you, I’ve been living alone sinec I was 9. I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he looked at her. She swallowed any combacks that she had, staring back at Neal.

“Neal, isn’t that Falcon?” Arlene called. They looked ahead to see Falcon walking alone, heading to the Parade Ground, an easy smile on his face. Neal nudged her. “Go call that airhead,” he laughed. Kalya grinned and walked towards him, and he watched as she punced on Falcon, startling the young Colonel. Falcon brought her into his arms while talking to her, and she laughed in response before punching him. Arlene came to stand beside him, looking at them in amusement.

“There’s something there, isn’t it?”

Falcon and Kalya, Hawkeye and Flame. He carved a smile and took Nina in his arms.

“I wish them all the happiness they can have,” he shrugged, leaving Falcon and Kalya behind. “They deserves that at least.”

 

 


End file.
